


Such A Good Little Soldier

by agirlnamedtruth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Service, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 08:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedtruth/pseuds/agirlnamedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in an AU where Lucifer won and Angels became pets/slaves/sex slaves. Meg owns Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such A Good Little Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weekendgothgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekendgothgirl/gifts).



> Written for [Porn Battle](http://battle.oxoniensis.org) for the prompts _chains, obedience, bruise, dirty, heat_ and _Castiel/any, good little soldier_.

His knees were raw from crawling, but the pain reminded him who he was, _what_ he was. He was a good little soldier. Nothing more, nothing less. He obeyed and he did so gratefully, for many of his brothers had been slaughtered for disobedience. Not him though, because one of the demons had taken a shine to him before the war was lost, back when it was a war. Clarence, she called him, she always had but he was grateful for that too. He could forget his real name. 

So he kneels, chained, naked, waiting for her to return. She is Lucifer’s right hand woman and she likes to remind him of it, to prove how wrong he’d been all those years ago when he said Lucifer would destroy demons. He hadn’t. He’d given them the world, and to those who wanted them, he’d given Angels.

He was lucky; his Mistress was a good one. She preferred her own pleasure to his pain and he was happy to give when she asked. He heard stories about those who refused. They were short and always ended the same way.

When she did return, she was covered almost head to toe in blood from her day job as a torturer, Alistair’s replacement. Castiel wondered for a second if he’d known the previous owner of the blood before shaking the thought from his mind. It wasn’t his place to question, that’s what had gotten them into this mess to begin with. His place was to serve; he was a good little soldier, nothing more, nothing less.

She snapped her fingers and the chains fell away from his bruised wrists and ankles. “Come on, Clarence, play time.”

Castiel crawled over to her, not daring to stand until she gave him permission. When she bent down and lifted him up by the chin, he considered that permission.

“Set the water running, very hot, then come and undress me.” She commanded and he nodded.

One of the first things he’d been taught, after how to please her sexually, was how to run a decent bath. It was easy enough, just water, scalding hot, no fancy salts or perfumes, that would come later. Every day after work she would request one and that was usually where anything sexual began. He tested the water himself and when his vessel’s skin came back red and stinging, he knew it was ready. 

He peeled off her jacket first, so caked in dried blood that it crackled when it was moved. The vest top underneath looked clean, but then it was such a dark purple normally it was hard to tell. The jeans were not so lucky, as he knelt to pull them down, he could see blatant bloody handprints, one on either leg. He didn’t want to think about how they got there so he didn’t. He acted as support, her hand pressing into his shoulder as she stepped out of them. He stood again; walking round to her back so he could unclasp her bra and slide down her panties, leaving her completely naked but for the blood that had soaked through her clothes and was now staining her skin in red uneven streaks. It would be his job to wash them off.

He held out his arm for her to balance herself as she stepped into the luxurious bathtub. It was stone, granite maybe, and at least 10 feet in every direction. More than enough room for them both, but still he waited for the invitation.

“Now, Clarence, before the water gets cold.” She said, raising her eyebrows. She didn’t understand why he waited for every order, even the obvious ones. She didn’t understand because she wasn’t a soldier, not truly, not even to Lucifer. And she certainly wasn’t a good one.

He stepped into the tub, the water biting at his skin like piranha, making it prickle and scream. It felt amazing on his bruises though, so he gladly let his skin suffer.

She had him bathe her with his bare hands first, his nails scrubbing where the blood was most encrusted, until it fell away in flakes. Then he’d be allowed to use soaps and oils, salts and lotions, from a dozen different places on the globe. Each one combined perfectly, making the vessel she held glimmer and glow and smell divine. He can almost forget her true face for a second, if she doesn’t face him.

Then when he was finished and she was perfectly clean again, her hand would slide between them to make sure he’s hard and ready for her to use. Perhaps to her all the cleaning is just foreplay, giving him an excuse to be intimate with her and touch her freely. Or perhaps she just really liked to be bathed. Either way, he was expected to be ready for her because she would be ready for him.

When she found him hard, which she always does now, he knows that’s what is expected, she turned to face him, her hand still under the water, sliding its way up and down his cock almost languidly. Then he’ll be on his bruised knees again, to give himself height and to give her leverage.

She straddled his thighs, lowering herself onto his cock effortlessly. For this part, his only job was to keep them balanced and to try and keep her knees from getting too bruised from the hard stone while she rode him, setting a fast and hard pace, working her way to her first orgasm the easiest way she knew how.

Castiel knew better than to give into pleasure this early on, so he’d ignore it and for all intents and purposes ignore her, choosing instead to stare over her shoulder at the priceless artwork that adorned the walls behind her.

When she clung tight to him, both internally and with her arms, he knew she was ready to be bedded properly. He lifted her in his arms and stood, carrying her out of the bathtub. The first time he’d done that she’d laughed and mockingly called him Prince Charming but he knew she liked it otherwise she would have insisted on being put down.

He led her down on the sheets, the bed still perfectly made. She didn’t complain that they’d get wet because it wasn’t her that would have to change them. Instead she writhed on them, the second orgasm always teased out of her slowly, unlike the first frantic one. He’d start with his fingers, one at a time, moving too slowly to risk making her come too soon. Then he’d go to his knees again and use his mouth, lapping at her and grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth, making her blood pump faster, just enough to push her to the brink before he’d pull back and wait for permission to take her properly, which she’d give, with that same look of mild exasperation.

“Just fuck me already, Clarence.”

A small smile would play on his lips, a shadow of his character, laughing inside at the irony of undoing a demon so thoroughly. 

He’d fuck her hard, how she always liked it, even before he _had_ to give her what she wanted. She’d add more bruises to the ones he had already as well as fresh bites and trails of scratches down his back. She’d rise to meet him almost defiantly, as if she was the one forced into submission, daring him to unleash the power that hummed just beneath his skin, to be as decimated by what they were doing as she was. But he never would, he’d never give in to her like that.

When she’d come, screaming and shouting blasphemies, curses and other human exclamations he’d never quite got round to understanding, he’d know it was his turn. He’d look to her for permission and by now she would give it without even needing to look at him; she knew their ritual as well as he did.

“Knock yourself out, Clarence.” She breathed, coming down from her own high.

“Meg!” The name, her name, slipped out of his lips as he came. It always did. It was the only time he called her by it, any other time it would too close to what had been.


End file.
